Merry Christmas, Kartik
by macawtopia
Summary: From Rebel Angels- It was Christmas morning and Gemma went out to see Kartik in the carrige house. They had a grand time laughing, talking and GASP! dancing, but then Gemma told him that she didn't consider him Indian, and it all went wrong. Kartik's POV
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer- All dialogue, and even the behavior of the characters in this scene belongs to Ms. Bray...even if I have tweaked it a bit. But Kartik's thoughts in this story, those are mine.

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It is Christmas morning and I am sitting in the carriage house, busy brushing Ginger and getting her ready for another day of towing the Doyle family everywhere they need to go. It is early, and I don't think that anyone else is awake yet.

And I'm wrong.

I can hear light footsteps coming from outside, and then I see someone emerging from the gloom of a cold, grey, winter morning. My head whips up to look at my intruder, and I see a tall girl with red-gold hair and clear green eyes.

Gemma.

She walks in quietly, almost shyly, and then turns to face me. She has the strangest expression on her face, it is as if she is trying to look cheerful, but her eyes can't be anything but solemn. I can see that she is still upset about how her father went back to smoking and drinking last night, and can't stop.

There is another emotion in her eyes as well, one which I can't quite place, but which makes me feel odd, self conscious. I do _not _enjoy feeling self conscious, but I can't help it, and I'm not sure what I should say.

She breaks the silence, "I've come to apologize for last night."

Ah, so _that's_ why she came to see me at 5:30 in the morning. That makes perfect sense. NOT. There must be something else on her mind or she wouldn't have bothered coming.

Gemma continues talking, "And to thank you for helping him."

Now I realize why she's come. She doesn't want to thank me, she needs to talk to someone about her father. I smile at her in what I hope is an understanding way. I can see that this topic, her father's addiction, disturbs and embarrasses her, greatly.

"Everyone needs help sometimes" I say.

Gemma gives me a wry smile, "Except for you"

Without thinking I run a hand through my hair. Oh, how mistaken she is, I do need help. I need my brother, the only family I've truly had since joining the Rakshana. I need him to guide me, to help me choose the right thing to do. Should I help Gemma, truly help her? Or do what the Rakshana ask me to do, and pretend to aid her, convince her to bind the magic in the name of the Rakshana, and then…

And then kill her? How am I going to chose between my lifelong duty and my heart? Amar, couldn't you have left the woman to die? She was doomed anyhow, and I need you, now more than ever.

Gemma is still looking at me, her green eyes inquiring, waiting for me to reply so I pick up a tiny bundle I had attempted to wrap earlier, and hand it to her.

"Merry Christmas Miss Doyle"

She looks at me, perplexed, "What is it?"

I laugh at her inwardly. What there ever a more pointless question?

"Why don't you try _opening_ it?"

Gemma laughs, a beautiful sound, and shakes her head at her own stupidity. Then she opens the package. I closely regard her face, trying to see if, desperately hoping that, she likes it.

The first expression which crosses her features is confusion. She does not recognize the figure on the handle of the knife I gave her, so I explain it to her. "He's Megh Sambara, the Hindu's believe that he offers protection against enemies."

"I thought you had no loyalty to any customs other than the Rakshana's?" She asks, eyeing me carefully with a hint of a smirk on her face. She really does love proving me wrong. But this time I'm not wrong, she is. Well, sort of.

While it's technically true that I am not supposed to follow, or practice Hindu customs, they remind me of my parents somehow, and of my true home miles and miles away. Not that I'm going to tell her that.

"The knife was Amar's"

"You shouldn't part with it then" Gemma says softly, and she gestures to return the knife to me. I'm sure that I would have found this touching, if she hadn't nearly slashed my arm in the process. Luckily I jumped back before she could cause me any harm.

"Careful, it is small but sharp. And you may have need of it."

She blinks, and then with a grim expression she says, "I shall keep it with me, thank you."

When she stops talking, she looks down at the floor, looking uncomfortable. The room falls deathly silent. Heck, I reckon the whole city is silent right now; just to ensure that this awkward silence can eat away at me for the longest possible amount of time.

Clip. Clip. The only sound I can hear is Ginger impatiently pawing the floor. Clip, clip. Nervously I run a hand through my hair.

In an effort to lighten the mood, and because I feel genuinely curious, I ask, "Tonight is Miss Worthington's ball, yes?"

A hint of a smile tugs at the corner of Gemma's mouth and her eyes shine when she says, "Yes"

Something about how happy the mention of a ball makes her tugs at my heart. How is it that a ball, a mere party can cause her so much joy? Will there be gifts? Fine food? Hoards of handsome and carefree, English men lined up to embrace her? Could a young Indian boy, longing to attend the ball instead of wait outside, alone in the cold snow, ever fit in? The wondering will drive me insane.

"What do you do at these balls?" There I asked it. Now was that so hard Kartik?

She sighs softly, "Oh, there is a great deal of smiling and talking of the weather and how lovely everyone looks. There is a light supper and refreshments. And the dancing of course."

That's it? All of that wondering and straining my eyes against the curtains of closed windows for that? Still, from what I know of British dancing, it involves a man and a woman, holding each other close. My insides clench in a familiar way. Jealousy. No matter how I try, I can't get rid of this feeling.

"I've never been to a ball. I don't know how this sort of dancing is done." It's true enough, and I do want to learn how to dance, it could come in handy someday. Another skill to add to my list. I am _not_ saying this because I have some insane desire to hold her close to me. No sir, not me.

Gemma grins at me, happy to know something I don't. "It isn't so difficult to master for a man" she says "The woman has to learn to do it in reverse, without stepping on his feet."

So the man leads…Thank goodness. I know I wouldn't be able to follow without hurting someone. Agile as I can be, I know that I haven't the grace for this sort of thing.

"Like this" I ask, leaping about while holding my arms up to support my imaginary partner.

She laughs, not unkindly, and corrects me, "A bit slower. That's it."

Now I'm grinning. I've got it! It's a silly thing to feel excited about, but I can't help it. No other Indian I know can dance this way, it's an English skill, through and through. I decide to take a stab at English, ballroom style conversation as well.

"I say Lady Whatsit, have you had many callers since arriving in London?" I try my hardest not to laugh and I gaze intently into the lovely eyes of my pretend dance partner. Currently her eyes are located in Ginger's ear.

I get the reaction I was hoping for; Gemma laughs.

"Oh Lord Hoity-toity, why I've so many cards from the very best people that I've had to put out two china bowls to display them all."

I smile. I can just imagine a woman being vain enough to display the cards of her admirers, and then brag about it.

"Two bowls, you say?"

"Two bowls."

"What an inconvenience for you and your china collection." I say solemnly. Then I can't help it, I burst out laughing.

Gemma smiles at me, in a way that makes my heart flutter again. "I should like to see you in a black jacket and white tie."

Would she? Really?

"Do you think I would look the grand gentleman?" I ask meeting her emerald eyes.

She nods confidently, "Yes."

Me, a gentleman? Although it goes against all I have been taught and believe in, sometimes I wish I were just that. If I were, perhaps I could have met Gemma on a London ballroom, rather than on a crowded Bombay street. Perhaps I wouldn't have had to prove myself over and over again just to be considered inferior to her. Perhaps I could have even come to mean something to her. Something more than just a boy who needs her to complete a mission.

"May I have this dance Miss Doyle?"

Gemma giggles. "Oh, but of course Lord Hoity-toity."

I shake my head at her softly, "No, Gemma. May I have this dance?"

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The second (and final) part of this should be up soon, and until then, please review! :)


	2. Chapter 2

Before I go on with this story, I'd like to give a special shout out to Andrea, who reviewed this story first, and gave me a reason to go on with it... I'd have replied to her normally, except I couldn't due to some, er, technical difficulties...

That said, enjoy the rest of this story!

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"May I have this dance Miss Doyle?"

Gemma giggles. "Oh, but of course Lord Hoity-toity."

I shake my head at her softly, "No, Gemma. May I have this dance?"

Her green eyes go wide, she's shocked. Scandalized even. Why am I not surprised? I look down at my second hand boots. I could never be a gentleman. Then I fell a soft hand take my own, and another place itself on my shoulder.

Gemma looks into my eyes and smiles nervously, "Ah, your, um, your other hand would be at my waist" I place my hand on her side, carefully, as if she were a sand sculpture which could fall apart with a single wrong move.

"Higher" she says in a strained voice, a voice which is not her own.

I reposition my hand, and say,"What next?"

"We, we dance." She stammers.

And we do. I stumble around the carriage house, taking her with me, and trying to be graceful. It doesn't work.

"I think it would be easier if you weren't pulling away" I say, for she seems to be leaving room for two extra people to dance in between us.

"This is how it's done" Gemma insists, but I can see her cheeks reddening, and she is avoiding my gaze.

She's lying.

We struggle awkwardly like this for a few seconds more; her pulling away, stubborn as my family's old mule, and me trying to lead her, and then I decide that enough is enough.

I pull her in close to me and we spin faster, in perfect time with each other. She holds me close, her hand gripping mine more tightly, an entranced expression on her face. Then, all of a sudden, I see her close her eyes, and she begins to look dizzy, so I stop.

Holding her in my arms and getting to know her has made me decide that I can't go on lying to her. She needs to know the truth. "Gemma" I say softly, "There is something I need to tell you…"

Suddenly, Gemma looks terrified, and lets go of me, stumbling backwards and clutching at her stomach.

"Are you all right?"

Gemma nods, her red-gold curls falling over her shoulders, and says, "The cold, perhaps I should be getting back."

She can't! Not before she learns my true mission. I want her to find out by me telling her. If she hears the truth from anyone else's mouth she will believe me to be a liar, and a cold hearted murderer who has every intention of slitting her throat.

"Alright, but first, I need to tell you-"

She cuts me off, "There's so much to do."

What is she so afraid of? She looks as if she thinks I'm going to tell her that I am really a raving lunatic, who eats pink fluffy rabbits for breakfast and fair maidens for lunch. Not that the truth is much better.

She is making to leave already, so I guess I shall have to tell her later.

"Well, then, don't forget your gift." I pass her the knife and her hand brushes mine. When it does I can see her eyes close, savoring the touch. The Rakshana's words come flooding back to me, "Woo her, if necessary." I hesitate for a moment, and then I lean in and kiss her, gently, on the mouth.

I feel her lips pressing against mine and she melts into the kiss. Her arms are around me, pulling me closer, and then she seems to remember herself. She breaks away from the embrace and looks at me with a helpless expression. "Please don't" she begs.

I can see that emotion in her eyes again. The one I couldn't place earlier. It's longing, and I only recognize it now because it is what I feel too.

"It's because I'm Indian isn't it?"

Gemma shakes her head earnestly, "Of course not, I don't even _think_ of you as an Indian."

I feel as if I've been punched in the stomach. Hard. She's all but told me that Indians are far beneath the English, and that I should be thankful to be more of an Englishman than an Indian.

Looking up I see that she looks confused by my livid expression. She has no idea how badly she has just hurt my pride. How badly she has just hurt me.

Well Kartik, she_ is_ just an Englishwoman. Living in her perfect little world, completely oblivious to caste and having to fight your way up the social ladder. She will never have to worry about being inferior to anyone, she will never understand.

And I had believed that she was different.

For some reason I start to find her bemused expression hysterical. Something inside me snaps and I begin to laugh, a cold joyless laugh, at the injustice of the world.

Then I stare Gemma down. "So you don't even think of me as Indian. Well, that's a tremendous relief."

Gemma looks as if she is on the verge of tears, "I-I didn't mean it like that."

Ha. Figures.

"You English never do." And with that I leave to pack my things. I don't think I can bear to look at her anymore.

"Where are you going?" comes her voice from somewhere behind me as I pack my few possessions into a runsack.

Where am I going? I don't have the foggiest. I suppose that I'll have to go…"To the Rakshana. It is time for me to claim my place" I invent wildly, "To begin my training to advance."

"Please don't go Kartik" comes a timid voice from behind me "I don't want you to go"

Something in Gemma's tone touches my heart. Her request is sincere.

"I don't _want _you to go"… Unfortunately for you though, Gemma, just being English isn't going to get you _everything _you want.

"For that I am sorry for you." I say in the iciest tone I can muster "You'd best go inside. Would you be so kind as to give this to Emily for me?" I ask, handing her the only book I have ever owned. "Tell her I am sorry I cannot continue teaching her to read. She'll have to get someone else"

I make to leave, but she stops me. "Kartik, don't you want to take the cricket bat?"

The cricket bat. My most prized possession, and a gift from her. I want to take it, for my old bat was useless. But I can't.

"Cricket. Such an English game. Goodbye, Miss Doyle."

And with that, I leave, walking as quickly as I can. I need to get back to the comfort of my own people, I need to remember my place, and I need to, somehow, forget the way Gemma just looked at me.

***

"Kartik, Wait! Please... I'm sorry!" I yell, ignoring the odd looks I'm attracting from the maids. But there is no point calling him back anymore, he's too far to hear me.

My heart aches as I watch the speck that is Kartik grow smaller and smaller. Just before he turns a corner and disappears from my sight altogether, I whisper,

"Kartik, I think I love you."

And I burst into tears.

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Leave me a review, please?

Est-ce que vous pouvez me donner un review s'il vous plait?

Muje ko reviews chay de, ek review deydo, please?

Could you, like, review please, 'cause that'd be, like, cool.

There, I've asked in four different languages, so do review. And BTW, teenager is _totally_ a language...


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